What is it, who calls it...by what force is it established.

The calls, the missing, the longing?

Shall I, take my eyes to different sights,
Chase the crowded frantic lights?

Who says, who answers, what's behind it.

Tell me the hours, show me your powers,
Take your hands and give me the flowers.

Destitute like a *******, winning from the sake of losing?

Woman, father? What's behind!?

Painted, but left nothing to listen.

Go ahead, Go, run, again, like you always did.

I hope you are there, and you answer...
because what we've had isn't something that always happens...
truthfully, it is rare.

This amount of comfort and ease, the feeling we've both had inside ourselves --- so quickly. Baby! It is beyond rare!

Perhaps my kisses weren't up to par, maybe in my voice the tone of these texts wasn't there...but I take time, please, take time...because this is rare.

Doubting myself is my specialty, but I mean it, you can make me change the world, and I promise that about every little thing that is you, I will care. Please, believe me --- understand --- we are rare.

You seem to have thrown everything away, and something I know or cannot seem is enough to not even try...I suppose you esteem me no longer...and perhaps it's more ugly than beautiful a thing that makes me rare.

I'll wait, though I'll pretend not to.

I swear.

Sage to ward away the bad spirits...
I am confident, I am sure...
please don't make me doubt,
please don't let me leave without.

But who am I begging, what nature or stone,
what call am I making, here, alone...

You see me, and the kiss is deep,
I am in bliss, but my thoughts keep
arising before I fall them, and tell myself to focus on the dream.

We're inside now, I am,
kissing you deeply, and you're crying out...

But I am deeper in my mind, asking myself what I'm worried about.

The conversation is too short, I can tell, you can tell.

You say it's time to go, and now my writing is my crying out.

I've encountered lands barren, with nothing, only nothing, you.
I check inside the broken houses, wreathed in rose petals, lying to the passersby: nothing but nothing, any will find. Counting time keeps ticking and ashen hands sifting, hours go in twelves, but our emptiness we cannot undo. Are we the heartless or was your fire long past due. I stare at the sky and wonder, how many seek to carry you; and the limitless times they are engulfed to nothing, by the nothing that is you. Emptiness is painless, depending on its place, it can consume us, and set about flames, reaching at nothing, setting all they touch to look too. Holocaust becomes, all whom wish to find a you.

The same miseries I sing, Have you ever come around?
Do you paint me found in that easel were the lost abound?

If I sing into that sunken town,
its dirt roads and wastelands of old clothes,
Will I but call the animals of the fall,
will the angel's toes enter the mad ball,
The stagnant paroxysm stuck in a still frenzy

will the wolves in howl drown my call
make my dream a figment doubly null
If I sit like a shadow, can they suffer a reflective maw
glisten again, like children with sunlit pearls

The intoxicating rave is over
She's no petals to throw you
sickened and befallen with you
she's fancied a plague of you
I am at every end

Run till you comprehend
your feet are dry as I've wept instead
Red footprints are letters in my head
I'll follow you to the place we met

I'll decide to sit,
everytime
I'll fall for the smile
I'll stare in the awkward way
you'll put me in the end

forever and once again

my dear... walk by once again.

Hey, it hurt today...
it wasn't like then,
when you smiled after saying Saray,

You left me lit
and your smile had not gone away,
God, send her my way
I did pray

You sat where i started,
and i feel thats where my heart is,
In class, with the timid boy,
too scared to look behind

She crept in day...
i always feared beginnings,
in some odd way
I knew not how to love in day.

I fell droll
As a bed whom no one lays
neath the steam of sun rays,
I grew cold
not knowing the game to play

Stayed.
for a second
loved for two
lied for many
Confused the truth,
i was your mirror,
I hated me
i mistreated me
i felt the opposite for me,
who believed in me
Was we

Was she?
Was it a figment thing
have i dreamt whilst i sing,
i am mad in reverie

Sorry, girl from the other day,
if i didnt make you stay,
i hope its not be cause i chose to say,
i love you,
and that you really didnt feel the same way

----if your face wasnt lying on that day.
i apologize, to throw what you saved,
when you walked, like an angel on its way.

Saray... the writer loved you more than his day, but had never loved in your way, but wrote to float butterflies away, and now
he totes another burden on to lay

It hurts, and you are not from that day,
But i swore id care till you hated me away,
i stand in a field of beauty
and choose a girl to see...
yeah, thats what Saray is to me.